The World Stops at My Hands

In the Cole family courtyard, Paula Lowe's shrill voice rang out as she swept furiously, muttering the same complaints she repeated every day. “Lazy servants! Useless household!” She jabbed the broom at the ground as if it were an enemy.

Then—crack! A stone flew out of nowhere, striking her squarely on the forehead. Paula stumbled back, clutching her head with a howl. Her eyes darted toward the gate.

There, leaning casually against the wooden post, stood Jane Cole. Calm and composed, she sucked on a lollipop, her gaze unreadable.

“You—how dare you!” Paula screeched, pointing an accusing finger. “The nerve to show your face here, let alone attack me!”